“Then,” continued the policeman, “then I got the usherette on this aisle to beat it back to the manager’s office for Panzer. Louis Panzer—that’s the manager right over there....” Queen regarded Panzer, who was standing a few feet to the rear talking to Neilson, and nodded. “That’s Panzer, you say. All right, all right.... Ellery! You got my message?” He darted forward, brushing aside Panzer, who fell back apologetically, and clapped the shoulder of a tall young man who had slipped through the main door and was slowly looking about the scene. The old man passed his arm through the younger man’s. “Haven’t inconvenienced you any, son? What bookstore did you haunt to-night? Ellery, I’m mighty glad you’re here!” He dipped into his pocket, again extracted the snuff-box, sniffed deeply—so deeply that he sneezed—and looked up into his son’s face. “As a matter of fact,” said Ellery Queen, his eyes restlessly roving, “I can’t return the compliment. You just lured me away from a perfect book-lover’s paradise. I was at the point of getting the dealer to let me have a priceless Falconer first-edition, intending to borrow the money from you at headquarters. I telephoned—and here I am. A Falconer—Oh, well. To-morrow will do, I suppose.” The Inspector chuckled. “Now if you told me you were picking up an old snuff-box I might be interested. As it is—trot along. Looks as if we have some work to-night.” They walked toward the little knot of men on the left, the old man’s hand grasping his son’s coat-sleeve. Ellery Queen towered six inches above his father’s head. There was a square cut to his shoulders and an agreeable swing to his body as he walked. He was dressed in oxford grey and carried a light stick. On his nose perched what seemed an incongruous note in so athletic a man—a rimless pince-nez. But the brow above, the long delicate lines of the face, the bright eyes were those of a man of thought rather than action. They joined the group at the body. Ellery was greeted respectfully by Velie. He bent over the seat, glanced earnestly at the dead man, and stepped back. “Go on, Doyle,” said the Inspector briskly. “You looked at the body, detained the man who found it, got the manager.... Then what?” “Panzer at my orders closed all the doors at once and saw that no one either came in or went out,” answered Doyle. “There was a lot of fuss here with the audience, but nothing else happened.” “Right, right!” said the Inspector, feeling for his snuff-box. “You did a mighty good job. Now—That gentleman there.” He gestured in the direction of the trembling little man in the corner, who stepped forward hesitantly, licked his lips, looked about him with a helpless expression, and then stood silent. “What’s your name?” asked the Inspector, in a kindly tone. “Pusak—William Pusak,” said the man. “I’m a bookkeeper, sir. I was just—” “One at a time, Pusak. Where were you sitting?”